


memories

by psychamonia



Series: 'they call me' verse [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ambiguous Relationships, Betrayal, Flashbacks, Friendship, Heavy Angst, M/M, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Not Really Character Death, Revenge, but actually yeah kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychamonia/pseuds/psychamonia
Summary: There's a sword, somewhere out there. It used to have one owner, then another. Now it passes between three.There's also a short engraving, cut deep into the steel.For all your future adventures. Love, George, Sapnap, + Bad.George loves and hates it all at once.---heads up: chapters are varying/inconsistent lengths. tw for blood, implied and described death, suicide.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap
Series: 'they call me' verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832230
Comments: 43
Kudos: 188





	1. dream.1

**Author's Note:**

> haha...yeah. i did write a spinoff fic just as long as the main (unfinished) work. 
> 
> if you haven't read 'they call me the hero,' don't worry! though the fics share a universe, this one takes place chronologically before and doesn't mention any details that aren't established within this work. but if you do want to check out 'they call me,' feel free!
> 
> chapter lengths will be very inconsistent, from just a few paragraphs to over 4,000 words. sorry if that's annoying, but i tried several other posting styles and i just don't like the way it looks :/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 310

Dream doesn’t remember much from his past. 

Sometimes, when he sleeps, he gets flashes: the inside of a brick house, muffled by lingering exhaustion; an ache deep in his back from farming; the tail end of a strip of fabric disappearing around a corner. Those ones are faded, dull, like they’ve degraded with age. Others are brighter: a sweeping view of trees; the rough handle of a sword, held firmly in his hand; ashes glowing in a campfire. 

His favorite flashes, though, are of people he can’t place, can’t remember past the fact that they’re important. They’re stronger, more resilient, lingering even after he awakens. When he opens his eyes into the darkness of the barracks, they tug at his memory, insisting on replaying the warm touch of a hand or the bright flash of a smile. They carry with them a feeling, something he can’t come close to defining, something that twists his stomach and pounds like a second heart in his chest. 

On those nights, when phantom sensations light up the nothingness that constantly thrums around him, Dream burns from the inside out, confused and satisfied all at once, desperately trying to savor what he can. He knows that they won’t last forever, so used to the transience of his life, but he clings to the images jealously until his Device buzzes to life and silences them, smoothing apathy back over his brain. 

It’s comforting, in a way. The snatches of pleasure, though beautiful in the moment, only distract him from his work, stealing his sleep and leaving him exhausted in the morning. Even the Executives notice, cutting him open with words and scolding him for wasting so much electricity in his Device. There’s always, always a punishment. 

Dream doesn’t remember much from his past. But he doesn’t really want to. 

( _Could_ he remember? Even if he did?)


	2. george.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 1585

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a repost + used to be part of the first chapter. my apologies to anyone who's already read it, but I didn't vibe with the way the original layout worked out :)

George remembers too much about the past. 

He hates it, sometimes, when the memories rush into his head all at once, twisting up his thoughts into unrecognizable things. Those are the days that he swings harder, fights brasher, ignores his injuries and the warm tears tracking their way down his face. Those are the days that Bad and Sapnap find him curled against trees or in the corner of their tent, cradling the old sword, staring at the crooked lettering etched into the hilt. He runs his fingers over the words so often that the section shines. 

The other two don’t ever really know how to help- there’s certainly no way to _fix_ it- but they try, all of them do. Remembering turns into researching, researching into training, training into traveling, edging closer and closer to their goal. They don’t talk about what might happen. They don’t talk about what _did_ happen. Most days it feels like they’re all desperate to forget exactly _why_ they try so hard. 

Except George. He can’t forget, can’t even force himself to really try. No matter how hard he attempts to block the memories out, he can’t help but see them. Bad and Sapnap and George and Dream, young and reckless with hope, leaving their village in a twisted search for adventure, determined to make something of themselves. He relives it, the first few months they spent traveling the wasteland of a world, learning everything they’d never been told, slowly losing their faith in the resilience of humanity. And the in-between years, the ones between then and now, the ones he cherishes closest to his heart. When they were grown-up and childish all at once, brave enough to love the world and skilled enough to fight it.

The fighting- that’s where it began. 

They all knew combat. While generally peaceful, their old tribe had never skirted the reality of life after the wars that ended society. George doesn’t remember it as well as the others, having moved into the tribe halfway through their meager education system, but he recalls session after session about expansion, innovation, the desperate struggle to collect and survive. He certainly recalls the hours of training, the persistent ache of overworked muscles, the bombardment of critiques on form and power and efficiency. Even though the tribe wasn’t quite strong enough yet, he knows there were plans for conquest. Now, George wonders if they’d ever gone through with those plans. After all, the world has gotten a whole lot more complicated since then. 

About a year into their adventure, just as they were entering the northern half of the country, they faced their first true threat. 

As a small traveling group, the four of them had battled bandits and wild animals alike, dismantling the threats easily. But even with their years of practice, they were still almost laughably unprepared for a confrontation with six masked enemies, each with a Power just as dangerous as their own. 

They almost made it out. Almost. 

George remembers it like it was yesterday. 

\---

_Four of the six are gone, their bodies laying scattered around the field. George is down a sword, instead using Bad’s staff, and Sapnap’s shield lays abandoned at the edge of the field, where one of the Powered had thrown it with a burst of wind. Kneeling a safe distance from the fight, eyes darting nervously between his friends and the others, Bad wraps a gash on his upper arm. The rest of them settle into a defensive array, preparing for their two remaining opponents to charge._

_Sapnap flashes George and Dream a quick smile. “Ready to end this thing? I’m hungry.”_

_Exhilarated with the thrill of the fight, Dream laughs. “Not everything can be solved just because you want food, Sapnap.”_

_“Can we please focus on the_ very dangerous situation _we are currently in?” George asks, annoyed, keeping his eyes on the fighters._

_Returning his eyes to their opponents, Dream’s smile goes calculating. He tilts his head, analyzing, and George recognizes it as his Power kicking in. “They’re not going to fight. Their stance is all off…”_

_Confused, George frowns. “Why would they retreat now? They haven’t shown any sign of backing down.”_

_“Yeah, but that one-” Dream gestures. “-hasn’t used a Power this entire time. They probably think they’re at a disadvantage now.”_

_“Which they are.” Sapnap says, almost teasing. “We’re so good.”_

_It’s at this moment, as Dream turns to throw Sapnap a smile, that everything starts to go wrong._

_The aforementioned opponent raises both hands, and the air shimmers around him. Silhouettes appear, outlined in the golden mist of the Power, and all of a sudden there are too many opponents to count._

_“What the fuck?” Dream shouts, before the world breaks into pandemonium._

_George doesn’t remember much of the ensuing fight. He remembers battling back the first wave of enemies, remembers pulling Sapnap backwards just in time to miss a slash for the throat, remembers losing track of Dream as he fades into a blur of green and white motion. When the world clicks back into focus, he finds himself almost back to back with Sapnap, leaning on each other. There’s no enemy in their near vicinity, so he takes a moment to breathe, propping a hand on his knees. He’s not used to fighting with a staff, and it uses entirely different strategies than he’s used to. He hopes Bad’s okay, that he’s been staying out of the fight._

_A shout from their left draws his attention._

_Dream is pinned to the ground, arms trapped by the enemy kneeling on his back. George can see his shield, cracked near in half, laying abandoned nearby, and his sword isn’t in his hand. Spotting it nearby, George darts to grab it, the thought of rushing in to save him already flashing through his mind. He tries to run forward, gaze locked on Dream on the ground, but a hand on his elbow stops him._

_George turns, almost snarling, to see Bad, face white with fear, aura pulled tight and close to his head. Behind him, Sapnap nocks an arrow, aiming at the few opponents who have shifted to watch the three struggle._

_“Bad, what the hell, let me go!” George yells, turning back towards Dream, struggling to escape Bad’s grip._

_“George, no, you’ll die!” Sapnap shouts, firing yet another arrow into the swarm around Dream. Strangely, their enemies appear angry, but not aggressive. They’re only preoccupied with subduing Dream; only the closest seem to even notice the other three’s presence._

_“_ He’ll _die if we don’t do anything!” George shrieks, throwing Bad’s hand off his arm and raising the sword, ready to charge._

_Frantically tossing to keep them from fully pinning him, Dream lifts his head off the ground, just far enough to lock his eyes onto George’s. “George-” he manages to get out, before his face is shoved back into the dirt._

_George nearly chokes, breath hitching dangerously, and starts to run toward him._

_“George, stop!” Sapnap shouts, running after him. They’re only about twenty meters away when one of the enemies turns, sword out. George skids to a stop, Sapnap crashing into his back._

_“George, we can’t do anything! He’s surrounded, we can’t-” Sapnap yells, hooking an arm around George’s stomach, pulling him nearly flush to his chest. George squirms, gaze still locked on Dream, but Sapnap’s arm is solid and tight around his waist, and he can’t break free._

_“Please let me go, please, I need to help him, I need- DREAM-”_

_Dream bucks his hips, throwing the man off his back long enough to pull his face off of the ground. “George! Love-”_

_His head is slammed against the ground, and he doesn’t struggle anymore._

_George hears Sapnap’s sharp inhale, hears Bad yelling behind them, but the whole world seems like it’s underwater. He stares at Dream, so limp and lifeless on the ground, aura flickering around his head as the man on his back continues pushing him down. Sapnap is shouting in George’s ear, pulling on his arm, and he’s stumbling, jerking into a run, following his friends as they escape, fleeing from the mob around the body. Fuck-_ Dream’s _body._

_It still doesn’t kick in until later, when he’s sitting propped up against a tree with Bad’s worried face inches away, healing a head wound George didn’t even realise he had. George looks to the side and sees Dream’s sword, the one he’s carried since their tribe days, the one he sharpens (sharpened) every night by the fire. And all of a sudden he notices his absence._

_There’s no one leaning on George’s shoulder, teasing him about how his form always screws him over in fights, offering lessons that will somehow always end up in games. There’s no one tracking the trees with their eyes, careful and vigilant and protective, always so protective. There’s no one stealing his glasses off his head, no one ruffling his hair, no one teasing him and Sapnap for fighting. No one falling asleep next to him, too close for any type of friends other than the ones they are. No one staring at the stars and asking about his old colony, before he met any of them._

_There’s no Dream._

_Bad doesn’t mention the tears when they come, even though they spill right over his fingers, still touching the gash. Instead, he just sighs and gives George a hug._

_It’s not the hug George wants, but he takes it anyway._


	3. dream.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 218

Dream tries to ask the other Hunters, sometimes, about who they were. He’s never gotten a straight answer. Something about the past makes them all twitchy, but not all of them are willing to push through it like he does. 

The best answer he’s gotten was from the Hunter who he thinks is closest in age to him, the one they call Finn. Dream hasn’t talked to him much- they’re on opposite sides of the Hunts, infiltration versus attack- but Finn is the kind of person who will talk to anyone. 

The boy had looked at him for a second, just a second, before responding. “I think I used to know exactly who I was.” 

“And now?” 

When Finn spoke again, his voice was different, higher. His features were already fading away, melting into a different person. Dream hadn’t been around him enough to know, but he thought that that was normal. 

“Now, I’m not so sure.” 

They’d left it at that.

Dream knows he existed before this, but as what? As who? Sometimes he feels like he was created, just as he is now, a Hunter built specifically for the task. 

A voice at the back of his head whispers that he’s wrong, but he ignores it. 

By now, he knows he shouldn’t trust his own memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah...the dream sections are really short until the end.


	4. george.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 1311

Before they set off for the Conductor’s lair, the three take a day to rest. 

Their most recent camp is in a clearing near a large creek, which they take full advantage of. Ever practical, Bad rationalizes the activity as a necessary batch of laundry. George suspects that he just wants to swim. 

The day is warm, not quite as hot as the summers, but definitely not the full chill of a Midwestern winter. George winces when he steps into the cold stream of the creek, but Sapnap charges straight in, whooping loudly and splashing George on the way. 

Forcing himself to move farther into the water, George shivers and remembers another day, another river. 

\---

_Bad and Sapnap are out, trying to learn how to catch something proper to eat. They’ve taken Dream’s crossbow with them, determined to find at least one game animal, some sort of fresh meat to break up the constant supply of jerky and canned foods they’ve been forced to rely on for nutrition._

_George himself is reading, tracing the words as he does so, marveling in the simple beauty of the sunlight falling across the pages. Dappled from the cover of the trees, the light seems to dance across the words, bringing them to life._

_He looks up at the crackle of a breaking branch, and sees Dream emerging from the tent. His hair is ruffled with sleep, eyes blinking rapidly as he adjusts to the afternoon light._

_“Hey,” George says, voice soft in a way it normally isn’t._

_Dream doesn’t respond verbally, just hums as he settles into the sand beside him. They’re camped at the edge of a forest, overlooking the bank of a river, if you could call it that. It’s honestly closer to a mediocre stream._

_“How was your nap?” George asks, strangely compelled to keep talking. He’s lost interest in the book, letting it fall closed as he turns to watch Dream._

_“Alright,” the other boy replies, voice hoarse. He clears his throat. “What are you reading?”_

_“Oh,” George says, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “_ A Little Princess. _”_

_He knows Dream will smile before it happens, but it’s beautiful to watch anyway, the way it stretches lazily across his mouth. “Oh, yeah?”_

_“Shut up, it was the only thing I could find. We haven’t been to a town in ages, I’ve already read all the rest of the books.”_

_“I wasn’t making fun of you.”_

_“Yeah, you were.” George scoffs, turning back towards the river._

_“Alright, maybe a little.” Dream admits, mouth twitching. “What’s it about?”_

_“It’s about this girl whose rich father leaves her at a boarding school. It goes through, like, her attempts at making friends and staying true to who she is, even when her father dies and she has to become a maid.”_

_“Sounds cheery.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_They lapse into silence for a bit. George stares at the rippling current, far too aware of Dream’s shoulder just inches from his own._

_Dream speaks again, suddenly. “Does she do it?”_

_“Do what?”_

_“Make friends. Stay true to herself.”_

_“I think so. I’m not that far.”_

_“How do you know the plot if you aren’t that far?”_

_“The summary on the back, idiot.”_

_“Okay, fair.”_

_Another break, then- “What’s happening right now? Is she a maid yet?”_

_“No, right now she’s telling the other students a story about mermaids and mermen and stuff. It’s how she starts to make friends- she’s a really good storyteller.”_

_From the corner of his eye, George catches sight of a certain look on Dream’s face. It’s a look that says trouble is coming, probably at his expense, and he frowns, suddenly wary. “What?”_

_“Oh, nothing. Just- mermaids, huh?”_

_“Y-es…?”_

_“Don’t you think that would be better read- in the water?” Dream says, standing abruptly, a grin splitting his face. Startled, George gapes up at him. Then the implications of the words hit him._

_“No, Dream, no, come on-”_

_“Come on, Georgie,” Dream says, yanking the book out of his hands and hoisting George into his arms, throwing him over one shoulder._

_“DREAM! Put me down, you idiot, oh my god-”_

_Wheezing, Dream walks straight into the river, dropping George when he gets to the middle. The water rushes up around him, and George breaks through the surface, spitting water from his mouth and coughing. The weight of his clothes threatens to drag him under again._

_“I can’t believe you just did that. I hate you.”_

_“I love you too, George.” Dream says, dunking himself under the water as well. When he surfaces again, his hair is plastered to the sides of his head, droplets of water sliding down his face and neck. Distracted, George stares at a single drop as it traces from Dream’s forehead all the way to his jaw, dangling on the edge before splashing back into the river._

_The water is cold, and the sun is warm, and Dream is right there, close enough to touch. George wouldn’t want it any other way._

\---

Shaking his head, George breaks out of his trance. The memory feels strange in his chest, like someone running their fingers along his ribs, tracing the curve of bone all the way to the center before settling into a knot, warm and unobtrusive. He looks towards the bank, at Bad crouching over a bucket, scrubbing their clothes and blankets with a sliver of rough soap. 

“Bad! Come swim!” He shouts, floating carefully on his back. 

The other boy doesn’t look up, focused on the movements of his hands across the fabric. “I need to finish this first, George.” 

“Do it later, we’re having fun,” Sapnap says, coming up behind George and ruining his float by wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “If you don’t come right now I’ll come over there and throw you in anyway.” 

“You know he’ll do it,” George helpfully supplies, subtly kicking Sapnap in the shin under the water. He’s rewarded with a soft ‘ow’ from behind him. 

Bad wavers, glancing between the two of them and the clothes. “Alright,” he relents. “But just for a bit. I need to finish these before the sun goes down so they can dry.” 

Rolling his eyes, George peels Sapnap’s arm off his shoulders and spins away, kicking his feet slowly. “Just come in already, I can only take so much of Sapnap alone.” 

Sapnap gasps, fake-hurt, though the smile on his face betrays him. “George! You’re so mean to me, why don’t you like me?” 

“Hmm. Do you want me to start from the top of the list?” 

Stepping gingerly into the waves, Bad says, “George, be nicer.” The tilt of his mouth contradicts the admonishment. 

“Yeah, George. I have feelings too.” Sapnap chimes in, pulling the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated frown. 

Laughing, George spits water at Sapnap, paddling quickly away as the other shouts and chases him. 

“C’mere, George!” Sapnap yells, sending a wave of water over Bad’s head as they pass. 

“Hey! Muffinhead!” In revenge, Bad grabs his ankle, tugging him back to let George get away. 

Struggling to keep his head above water, Sapnap yanks, trying to free his foot. “Bad! Let me go!”

George, seeing an opportunity, turns and dunks Sapnap, shoving firmly down on his head to push him underwater. He comes up spluttering, shaking his head like a dog, calling George things that make Bad yell about polite language. And the chase continues, until they’re all soaked and tired, flopping down onto their only free blanket, spread out in the riverbank sun. 

At the back of George’s mind, the coming task pulses, eager for attention, but he ignores it. His brain thrums with the moment and he breathes, focusing on nothing but the red tint of the sun through his eyelids. For now, they can just be here. For now, they can just be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen George's Love v Host yet, but I heard it was...interesting...


	5. dream.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 1181

_They drag him into the room by his ankles._

_He’s still resisting, still tossing as well as he can, thrashing his bound arms and trying his best to kick the hands pulling the rope. It doesn’t help- his face scrapes against the stone floor with every tug, and he can’t get any leverage to power his blows._

_His Power whirls through his mind, calculating and calculating, but he can’t find a solution. The best he can hope for is a rescue, and with the way they were outnumbered earlier, he doesn’t even want to hope for that. From what he can see from the floor, the building he’s been brought to is decorated to the point of indulgence. Whoever owns it- they have money, resources. And probably Power, as well._

_His captors stop, leaving Dream still mostly face down on the floor. A few inches from his eyes, a spider considers him, then scuttles away._

_“Ah! The legendary Powered arrives.” A strangely high-pitched voice, stretched thin like a band of elastic, echoes around the chamber, coming from somewhere behind Dream._

_“I wouldn’t say ‘arrives.’” Dream grumbles, annoyed and tense with nerves. Even craning his neck, he still can’t see whoever is speaking. “Your brain-dead lackeys just pulled me in like a sack of rocks.”_

_The mysterious person makes a sympathetic noise. “How rude of them! Please, let him up. We must treat our guests with respect.”_

_Dream barely catches the movement of his captors out of the corner of his eye before rough hands land on his upper arms, yanking him onto his feet. He tosses his head to shake the pebbles from his hair, brain already racing-racing-racing to find any solution. Now that he’s upright, no one’s holding his ankle rope...even with his legs tied together, he could probably take out the three people he knows are present. Escaping the area is a different story, especially since he doesn’t know how far they took him while he was unconscious._

_A hand on his shoulder breaks him from his thoughts, and he takes in the face of the unknown person in front of him._

_The first image that comes to mind is that of a cat, puffing itself up to seem bigger. The man wears long draping layers of robes, accessorized with several necklaces, rings, and even a wide dangling hoop on one ear. His face is even stranger- like an artist drew all the individual parts of a face and then assembled them hastily, with no regard for size or continuity._

_“Dream, is it?” The man says, smiling wide to reveal a mouth of teeth just as jumbled as the rest of his face._

_Ignoring him, Dream glares. Behind his back, he tests the hold of the rope around his wrists. Strong, but if he could swing his legs through the bind of his arms…_

_“Now, you’re probably wondering why I had them-” the man gestures at the two figures still flanking Dream- “bring you here. And the answer is- I have a job offer for you! Great benefits, food and board provided, all the stops. No dental, but who needs dental these days, right?”_

_Dream’s eyes dart to the nearest weapon- the mace hanging from the left hand guard’s belt._

_“So, here’s the deal. Actually, let me...” The man turns around, facing towards the large, ornate desk behind him, and Dream strikes._

_Dropping to the ground, he rolls backwards, tucking his knees to his chest to pull his arms under and around. Arms now in front, he pops up, snatching the mace from the guard’s belt and swinging it immediately into the other guard’s head. He drops like a stone, and Dream abruptly ends the first guard’s surprise by knocking her out too. Heart racing, he looks towards the robed man, ready to meet his final opponent. He’s closer than expected, but that’s okay, Dream can drop-_

_A hand curls around his neck, and excruciating pain lights up his body. His muscles seize as electricity courses through his limbs, and he collapses, gasping for air. Every nerve ending is on fire. He knows he should stand, should keep fighting, but his elbows buckle under him as he tries to push himself up._

_The doors behind him burst open, and more guards enter the room. Dream’s bangs fall into his eyes, but he shakes them away, glaring up at the robed man from the ground._

_Irritatingly, the man barely looks disturbed by Dream’s resistance. If anything, he looks gleeful. “Well, you’re certainly a fighter! That’s good, that’s good, you’ll be perfect for the job.”_

_“I’m not doing any fucking job for you.” Dream snarls._

_“Oh, don’t worry about it.” The man smiles, and for the first time, Dream feels a jolt of genuine fear. “You’ll change your mind.”_

_He beckons the guards with one hand, and they force Dream up. There are hands on his shoulders, up and down his arms, even one curled into the back of his hair, and they feel like spiders crawling across his skin. Dream shudders as they march him out the door._

_“Or, more accurately…” Comes the voice from behind, a chuckle barely hidden in the words. “We’ll change it for you.”_

\---

“Wake up!” A voice shouts into his ear, and Dream jolts awake, knocking his skull directly into the face of the person leaning over him. The dream lingers, clinging to his mind like a cobweb. 

“Ouch! What the fuck, dude?” The man behind him says, reaching up to cover his nose. Dream recognizes the man’s features (small patches of orange fur, fox-like ears currently flattened against the sides of his head) and sighs, dreading whatever news the covert operative is bringing him. 

“Why are you here, Fundy?” Dream says, running a hand through the dampened hair prickling on the back of his neck. He ignores the apprehensive tension in his legs, ready to flee at any moment. 

Hand still cupping his nose, Fundy gestures vaguely behind him. “Conductor wants you for a debrief from the last Hunt. He says it’s not urgent, but you should probably hurry anyway. I don’t think you were supposed to be sleeping.” The man casts a wry glance over the scattered photographs and paperwork laying across Dream’s desk. “New Hunt?” 

“Maybe. Not for you, though.” Dream says, intentionally dismissive. He’s never had much time for Fundy’s attempts at friendship. “Eret brought back info on a few potential targets. All high profile, and he’d be the assigned op anyway.”

“No worries.” Fundy smiles, ears perking a little as he backs out of Dream’s workspace. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t forget about the Conductor! I don’t think he had his coffee today, he was way grumpier than normal.” 

Dream spares him a weak smile, turning back to the photographs. His hands tremble slightly as he massages his neck, where his Device throbs threateningly. The dream is quickly fading, melting away under a wave of responsibilities.

He wipes away the tear building in the corner of his eye, and doesn’t remember where it came from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still haven't finished the love v host, but i'm about an hour in and wow...maybe it's just bc i used to watch a ton of schlatt, but i love minx sm and i wish i had enough confidence in my characterization to write her


	6. george.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 827

The three of them pause halfway outside the city to rest for the night. None of them want to risk an attack in the approaching darkness- without being on familiar turf, the cover of night will be a hindrance more than a help. Instead, they plan on continuing just as dawn breaks- it’ll still be dark enough to conceal movement, but they should be able to navigate with more ease. George and Sapnap pitch the tent while Bad sorts food, setting aside a meager portion for each of them. So close to the city, a fire is too dangerous, so they eat in silent darkness, watching the shadowed woods around them for any sign of movement. Before long, Sapnap and Bad turn in for bed, leaving George to his watch. 

The night is cool and calm around him as he settles down near the tent’s entrance. It’s just edging into the middle half of the night, right before one day turns to the next, and George is mindlessly staring into the woods when a memory springs, unprompted, into his mind.

\---

_They’re still in Florida, all four of them, but they’re moving north with the change in seasons in a vague hope to escape a full Southern summer. It’s still in the first weeks of their travels, and George worries idly about the tribe, hoping there’s been no patrols sent to retrieve them. For that reason, they’re being extra cautious, putting two people on watch every time of the night. Dream’s sitting next to him, gaze lingering idly on his fingers tracing patterns in a patch of dirt._

_Puffing out a breath, George squints at the fading light on the horizon, eyes sticky, threatening to close. The whole world hovers tight and close around him, like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He feels he could brush the sky with his fingertips._

_“What color is your aura, George?” Dream asks, suddenly. His hands drift over to a patch of clover beneath their feet, fingers twisting around the stems, crushing the leaves._

_“What?” George says, disoriented from the sudden question._

_“I mean, your Power is seeing auras, right? So what’s yours look like?”_

_George glances out at the field, tracing his eyes over the horizon so he doesn’t have to see the way Dream’s own aura is expanding steadily in the air. “I don’t know, I can’t see mine. Or I don’t have one, I guess.”_

_“Nah.” Dream says, leaning back onto his elbows. His eyes are shut tight, but his smile lights up his face. “I bet yours is brown.”_

_George scrunches up his nose, vaguely insulted. “Like mud?”_

_“Like strength, and dependability.” He says, simple as anything. “Like safety.”_

_George can feel a blush crawling into his cheeks, but ignores it. “How do you know that?”_

_“Know what?”_

_“What all the colors mean. I don’t remember learning anything like that.”_

_“One of my friends was an artist when we were kids. She showed me these books she found in one of the older buildings. Plus,” he says, opening his eyes to meet George’s, “your eyes are really brown.”_

_Flustered, George turns his head away, picking on the first topic that springs to mind. “Your eyes don’t match your aura.”_

_“No? What’s mine look like, then?”_

_He looks back to find that Dream has collapsed totally onto the ground, his aura filtering through the grass and weeds and still stubbornly reaching towards George’s hand, planted firmly a few feet from Dream’s head. “I don’t know how to describe it, yours is different from Bad’s and Sapnap’s. It’s weird.”_

_“Weird how?”_

_“Theirs are just one or two colors, but yours is like...purple and red, but also pink, in places. Dark blue around your ears. And there’s a little bit of gold, kind of tangled with the red, near the bottom, I guess?” George traces his eyes over that strand, floating a few inches from where he sits._

_“Aw, I love you too.”_

_“What! I never said that.” George exclaims, hearing Dream wheeze out a laugh beside him._

_“Pink, red, and gold, George, you can’t deny it.”_

_“You’re such an idiot.”_

_Dream just laughs harder in response, curling up slightly, head nudging closer to George. Sighing, George flops backwards onto the grass as well, ignoring the way the chill of the ground seeps into his clothes. Tracing his eyes over the emerging stars, he listens to the sound of Dream’s laughter trickling off beside him, close enough for George to feel a distant puff of breath on his ear. A tendril of gold smoke drifts into vision; part of Dream’s cloud still eagerly reaching out to him. Heart clenching, George exhales, watching his breath lift the smoke into the sky._

_If George did have an aura, he suspects it would be floating up to meet it._

\---

Still searching the trees for any sign of movement, George feels a tear slip down his cheek and fall, lonely, into the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my friend: hey **** remember when you used to write fanfic haha 
> 
> me: yes...used to...


	7. dream.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 435

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note for something i kind of forgot to add in the main story (oops): George can see auras, but the rest of the world is either monochromatic or very dull. if/when he describes things as if he could see color, it's not because i chose to ignore his colorblindness, i just wanted to adjust the same sort of concept (different vision) to the world of altered humans (manifesting as his Power). hopefully (if i did it correctly), the only things he describes in color should be auras. 
> 
> major thanks to the person who pointed that out- i didn't realise i'd forgotten to mention it!

Dream has another nightmare. 

Nightmare isn’t exactly the right word. It’s a memory, the first memory he knows is real, the first one with places and people he recognizes and events he can recall even outside of the dream. 

It doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

\---

_“Dream,” the man says. “Your name is Dream.”_

_“Who are you?”_

_“I’m the Conductor. Your commander.”_

_Dream’s brow crinkles. He looks around at the room and finds it unfamiliar._

_“Where am I?”_

_“You’re in our medical wing. You got injured during a job, nothing to worry about, but your memory might have been, ah...lost…during the recovery operation. We’ll have to retrain you.”_

_A sudden pain spikes through the base of Dream’s neck, and he reflexively lifts a hand to it, finding a smooth, rectangular apparatus. When he tugs on it, it lifts the skin slightly, sending a spiraling pain down his spine, and he decides not to try again, wincing at the lingering ache. “Why...what is this?”_

_“That’s your Device. It’s for simple performance and maintenance checks, nothing to worry about.” The Conductor steps closer, picking a clipboard off of the metal table next to him. “Now, time for your next Hunt.”_

_“‘Hunt?’” The word feels strange in his mouth, like something he knows well used in a different way._

_“Yes. You are a Hunter. You were chosen to Hunt under my command.”_

_It doesn’t sound right, but how could Dream know? According to the man, this is routine. According to him, he’s already done these ‘Hunts’ before. Maybe it’s all he’s ever done. It’s not like he could tell either way._

_“Here.”_

_Dream takes the object, turning it over in his hands. It’s a mask, smooth and white, with a thick elastic band to hold it in place. The front has dark-screened panels over the eye holes and a wide, painted-on smile curving across the mouth plate._

_“You wear this during your Hunts.” A note of steel edges into the Conductor’s voice. “Don’t ever take it off.”_

_Obediently, Dream lifts the mask and secures it over his face. It feels cold and snug against his skin._

_“Now, your Hunt. We’ll arm you later, but for now...” The Conductor turns the clipboard to show Dream a blurry photo of a girl’s face, twisted into a snarl. Through the mask, her features are darkened but still perceptible._

_“This is your Target. It is your job to kill her.”_

\---

For this dream, his Device doesn’t need to buzz. Dream knows who he is. He knows what is real. He knows that this is what he was made to do.


	8. george.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 163

The streets are cold and empty in the early morning hours. George shivers under his jacket, clutching it tighter around him. Dream’s sword swings heavy at his side, and George would almost swear it’s buzzing in anticipation. They’re so close to getting their revenge, to ensuring no one else will ever have to face more pain at the hands of the man who took their friend from them. 

“Down the block to the left, right?” Sapnap murmurs, barely turning to face the other two. His head swivels, tilted slightly as he listens carefully for any sound of movement in the ruined buildings they pass. 

Bad pauses to check the hastily-drawn map he holds in one hand. “The caravan said...yeah, right up there.” 

Heart pounding, George carefully touches the hilt of his sword, tracing his fingers along the worn decorations on the hilt. The sword seems to settle under his hand. 

They’re almost there. And finally, finally, Dream will be able to rest.


	9. dream and george

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 2266  
> (the last two chapters are very long)

Dream is awoken by the barracks door slamming open. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he lifts his head to see a uniformed Executive silhouetted against the light of the hallway. In the next moment, the overhead lights flash on and Dream winces, the annoyance echoed in the groans of the other suddenly awakening soldiers. Before he can move to cover his eyes, the Executive is beside him, yanking on his elbow to get him up. 

“On your feet, Dream. The Conductor needs you.” 

Startled, Dream rubs at his eyes, reaching for the heavy combat boots tucked beneath his bunk. “The Conductor?” 

“Yes.” The Executive sneers, throwing a uniform onto the bed. “His prized pup, out for another show. Don’t forget your collar.”

Biting his tongue against a retort and feeling a warning pulse from his Device, Dream reaches for the mask hanging from a peg by his locker. “Is this for a Hunt?” 

“No.” The man pauses, glaring as Dream settles the mask onto his face. “This time, they’re coming for us.” 

\---

Shivering slightly with cold, George stares at the building. 

“Oh, my goodness,” Bad breathes beside him.

It’s certainly worth the exclamation. Though surrounded by crumbling facades from years past, the Conductor’s headquarters stand tall and shining, unnaturally pristine. The building is three stories of gray stone, decorated with various statues and emphasized by an overhang supported by smooth white columns. Above the double doors hangs a sign, scratched beyond recognition except for one word: BANK. The whole building seems to emit an aura of unfriendliness, and though George knows that his Power doesn’t apply to objects, he almost expects the structure to be bathed in a deep crimson red. Danger.

“Well, I’m intimidated,” Sapnap says, hand drifting to the handle of his axe, the orange cloud around his head swirling apprehensively. 

“Do we just...go in?” George asks, almost nervous. They’ve been preparing for so long, nearly a full year of training and hunting and planning, but he finds himself suddenly unsteady, knocked off balance. 

“I think so.” Bad replies, nervously fiddling with the edge of his glove. “It’s probably too late to check for traps, but be careful anyway.” 

“Okay.” Sapnap breathes, pulling his axe and adjusting the shield he holds in the other. “George?” 

“Why do I go first?” He complains, but shuffles forward anyway, sword and shield held aloft. 

“Your boyfriend. Your revenge mission.” Sapnap shrugs, as if he wasn’t just as dedicated to their work. As if he wasn’t the second most likely culprit to be burning torches late into the night, hunching over maps and diagrams until Bad eventually forced him to sleep. 

“Dream wasn’t my boyfriend.” George says, nerves coloring his voice and turning it angry. His pulse throbs sickeningly in his head. “Stop talking like this isn’t for you, too.” 

“Guys,” Bad interjects. “Focus.” 

“Sorry,” Sapnap mutters, eyes flicking to George as they step further into the shadow of the building. “I loved him too. I’m just...” 

“I know.” George says, steadying his voice. “But now we have to do this.” 

Drawing in a breath, he pushes open the doors, and they enter. 

\---

Dream’s boots thud steadily down the corridor, accompanied by the sharp clicks of the Executive’s dress shoes. He spares a glance down at their feet, nearly disgusted at the impracticality of them, but forces his attention back to their destination. He’s met with the Conductor before, even regularly, but never in the middle of the night. Never when he’s not already in uniform, either returning from a Hunt or receiving new instructions. 

The hallways they click-and-thud through are familiar to Dream, though they all look similar with their dull white walls and dusty tile, differentiated only by the signs marking certain doorways. As they approach the Conductor’s office, however, the decorations change, becoming more elaborate and sophisticated as they move from the guard’s quarters to the habitat of the upper echelons of command. 

Eventually, they reach the door, which the Executive pushes open without hesitation. Once an old conference room, the Conductor’s office is now as gilded as the hallways, decorated with gold-framed art and flourishing collections of plants, which Dream knows to be the duty of one of the soldiers who shares his bunkroom. The Conductor himself stands before a carved wooden desk, one of the few items in the room that isn’t sleek and unobtrusive. Carved from dark, sturdy wood and covered with engraved designs, it stands at the far end of the room, blocked partially from Dream’s view by the excessive drapes of fabric adorning the Conductor’s body. 

“Ah, Dream!” The man announces, beckoning him forward with one gloved hand. “Just who I was waiting for. Jasper, you may take your leave.” 

With one last sour look, the Executive turns on his heel and vanishes back into the hallways, closing the doors behind him with an ominous click. Dream watches him until he’s gone, then turns back to the Conductor, who’s eyeing him up and down. 

“You may be wondering why you’re here, now.” The man says, twirling a stylus over his fingers as he returns to studying the tablet he holds in his other hand. 

“Executive Jasper mentioned something similar to a hunt, sir.” Dream says, spitting the honorific out mindlessly. His Device buzzes vaguely in the back of his mind. 

“Something like it, yes. By which I mean absolutely nothing like it at all.” The Conductor’s mouth twitches up into a smile, though it looks crooked and wrong, like he’s never seen someone smile before. “You see, there are three Targets making their way into the building right now. I’ve already arranged some resistance, but these three have shown to be quite resilient. Not quite enough to match you, though.” 

“Sir?”

“You will wait here with me. And when they get here…” His grin widens until Dream can see all of his teeth. A hair-raising shiver runs down his spine, though his Device remains still and idle. “When they get here, you will kill them.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

\---

“Sap!” Bad shouts, fending off one of the faceless enemies with his staff. “I could really use some help with these muffinheads!” 

“Coming!” Sapnap yells back, bashing another back a few feet with his shield. “George, cover me!”

Wincing, George swings his sword in an arc, forcing the three enemies he and Sapnap had been facing to dodge. They’re fast, though, and he’s forced to give up another strike in favor of flinching behind his shield to miss a shock from a taser. Behind him, Bad and Sapnap take out their four opponents, Bad’s Power traveling down his staff to wither away the clothes and skin of some, Sapnap using his lights to blind them before coming in with his axe raised. 

Another blow rattling against his shield forces George to focus back onto his own fight. His blank-faced opponents are advancing, though thankfully none of them show signs of Powers. Ducking behind his shield once more, George pops out and slices two of them across the stomach. Both of the wounded collapse, one even dragging the third down, accidentally hitting them with the taser. Then all that’s left is a few more strokes, and George can breathe again, the tip of his sword dipping towards the ground as he glances back to make sure the other two are good. 

Sapnap’s leaning on Bad’s shoulder, axe arm held out in front of him as Bad heals a gash stretching from wrist to elbow. Both of Bad’s suppression gloves are gone, but he’s careful to keep his deadly right hand away from both of his friends, staff braced against the ground. His aura swirls around his head animatedly, marbled red and yellow moving almost as fast as George’s thoughts. 

“We’re close, right?” Sapnap asks, removing his weight from Bad’s shoulder. Wordlessly, George leans in to take his place, Bad’s hand transferring to the small abrasion on George’s forehead, wiping the blood away gently with his sleeve. 

“Should be,” George says, eyeing the hallway as much as he can while still facing Bad. “Based on the map from that one guard, the office should be in the next hallway.” 

Sapnap grumbles, idly swinging his axe’s handle out to knock a vase off of an end table. It shatters, sending water and shards of porcelain spilling out across the floor. 

“What was that for?” Bad asks, taking his hand from George’s face. George thanks him quietly, scrunching up his nose at the way the wound itches from the healing. 

“I don’t know, this whole thing just makes me so mad.” Sapnap says, kicking at the broken vase. 

Edging past him to continue down the hallway, George rolls his eyes. “Well, randomly breaking things isn’t going to help.” 

“It makes me feel better!” 

He rolls his eyes again, lifting his sword back into a defensive position. “Whatever you say, Stupidnap.” 

“Come on, that one wasn’t even clever!” 

\---

They hear the sounds of the Targets long before they actually arrive. First, just fighting, the familiar clash of swords and shields, overlaid with the buzz of tasers and shouts from the Targets. Dream’s almost surprised to hear no gunshots- even though he prefers traditional weapons, most people looking to deal fast and easy damage don’t favor skill and strength-based weapons like swords. He even hears what sounds like the clangs of a metal-plated staff, which makes the hair on the back of his neck lift with a strange sort of familiarity, even as his objective mind analyzes the difficulty of the coming fight. 

There’s something different about these Targets, and it’s how much they _argue._ Even after the fight has ended and the Conductor has excitedly whispered that those were the last set of guards, Dream hears their conversation continue, the irritable back-and-forth growing closer as they approach the doors. 

Body humming with anticipation, Dream readies himself, sinking into a fighting stance with his sword and shield held high. He feels the length of the crossbow across his back and checks his belt one more time, ensuring the pouch of bolts is secure and in place across his hips. Just before the Targets reach the door, the Conductor waves Dream half a step behind him, placing himself directly in line with the entrance with Dream half-hidden in his shadow. 

The voices reach the doors. There’s a short conversation- the Targets checking to make sure they’re all ready, how cute- before the door swings open and three people enter in a triangle formation. 

Dream’s eyes land on the face of the one in front, and his sword almost slips from his hand. 

\---

Behind his glasses, George’s eyes sweep the room hurriedly. He confirms that there’s hardly anyone present, just the Conductor and a taller, shadowed figure (a bodyguard?) behind him, before his gaze lands back on the villain, who’s slowly clapping his hands with an extravagance that makes George want to roll his eyes. 

(As cliche as it is, George thinks he needs it. There’s no way a short man in a flowy robe could ever seem intimidating, especially with the weak puffs of sickly yellow aura surrounding his body, but it’s bold of him to try.)

“Well, well! Our courageous adventurers.” The Conductor proclaims, a twisted smile settling onto his face. “Finally here to confront me.” 

George says nothing, only gripping his sword tighter. He hears something like a growl building in Sapnap’s chest. 

“Nothing much to say?” Almost pouting, the Conductor brings a hand to his face, ringed fingers pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes. “Is that really how you greet an old friend?” 

“You’re not our friend.” George says, scowling. He lifts his shield, preparing to signal to Bad and Sapnap. They can’t afford to get distracted listening to this moron. 

“Well, that is tragic to hear. Honestly, my heart is broken! But actually, I was talking about _him._ ” The Conductor steps to the side, beckoning his companion to step into the light. 

Preparing for a fight, George tenses, attention switching to the other figure. His eyes take in the differences of the mask, which is decorated with a smile that the other enemies didn’t have, before he looks closer at the smoke swirling around it. His heart stops. 

The aura is familiar; even dull and faded, the colors are as recognizable to George as his own hands. The muted purple and blues, the red and gold twisting below, swirls of pink dotting the center...he feels sick, stomach churning at the sight. 

“George?” Bad says, nerves evident in his voice, and George realizes that he’s unintentionally lowered his arms out of attack position. “What’s…?” 

“It’s him.” George whispers, voice cracking halfway through the words. He clears his throat, then repeats himself, louder. “It’s him. It’s Dream.”

“What? But-” Bad stutters, glancing between George and Dream. “No, it can’t...can it?” 

“Dream’s dead, George.” Sapnap says bluntly, though George can tell by the contraction of his aura that he's hoping, and desperately trying not to. “He died a year ago.” 

“Or did he?” The Conductor sings, turning towards the taller man. “Why don’t we see for ourselves? Take off your mask, dear Hunter.” 

Jerkily, the bodyguard ( _The Hunter?_ George questions) sets down his sword and reaches up, slipping the strap of the mask over his head. He lowers it away from his face, and George distantly hears the gasps of Bad and Sapnap as the face confirms what he already knew. 

He’s staring into the wide green eyes of someone he thought he lost. 

He’s staring into the wide green eyes of _Dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update will be coming soon. originally the last two were planned as one chapter just bc continuity, but it was over 4000 words (like half the fic) soo...


	10. dream and george

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> words: 1995

The Targets look shocked when Dream removes the mask. He still doesn’t understand- the Conductor’s words are humming in his brain, awakening things he never knew existed, but the new information doesn’t make anything any clearer. If anything, the scene is getting more confusing by the minute. Even the first jolt of recognition he got from seeing the lead Target is gone, stifled by an immediate shock from his Device. The name- _George_ \- also stirs something in his memory, but he dismisses it as fleeting and unimportant. Just the name of another Target. 

The Conductor’s laughing, ugly and rattling in his chest like the last arrow inside a box. “This is just so precious! Ah, the looks on your faces.”

“Dream?” One of the Targets says, voice wavering. He turns his head to face them, picking his sword from the floor, letting the mask fall to the side, forgotten. The one who called his name is in white and black, holding a battered axe and shield in front of him. “You don’t...do you remember us?” 

He gets the vague feeling that he should, should recognize these faces before his own, should know them even with just a second of a glimpse, but his Device is so loud and the back of his neck is twitching with the near-constant shocks and he can’t _think_. 

“Of course he doesn’t remember you!” The Conductor says, gleeful. “Why would he? He’s a whole new person now, much better than he was with you fools. He’s advanced himself. He’s _improved_.” 

“He’s not.” Dream shifts his gaze back to the middle one, puzzling over the strange accent on his words. He can somehow sense that the boy is glaring, despite the Target’s eyes being covered by weird, oversized white sunglasses. “You don’t own him, stop speaking for him.” 

The Conductor clicks his tongue. “Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken. See, I _do_ own him. I made him who he is. He’s _mine_.” 

“He’s not.” The Target says, anger evident in his voice. 

“He _is_. And I’ll prove it.” 

The last Target finally speaks, gaze worried beneath the slight shadow of his hood. The light of the lanterns glints off of his glasses. “How?” 

Ignoring him, the Conductor turns to face Dream, raising a hand to cup his cheek. Internally, Dream sneers, but the Device buzzes menacingly and he suppresses the expression. The Conductor’s short fingers caress his cheek in an imitation of affection, though his rings are ice cold as they skate over his skin. His voice is silk and knives when he speaks.

“Kill them all.” 

\---

Before George can truly register the command, the room bursts into chaos. The Hunter- _Dream_ \- charges, sword raised, and George barely manages to lift his shield before he’s upon them, a whirlwind of movement faster than he can track. Swearing, Sapnap ducks in from the side, dodging the blade of Dream’s sword to swing the handle of his axe toward the boy’s head. He’s fighting to subdue, not to kill, and George allows himself a moment of gratitude before Dream’s head turns and he kicks Sapnap in the chest, knocking him to the ground with a choked gasp. His axe clatters out of his hand, and George, panicked, rushes to swing at Dream, drawing his attention away from his friend. 

“Bad, what the fuck, help us!” Sapnap shouts, snatching up his axe again. Dream counters George’s strike, blades clanging together and echoing in the chamber. 

“I can’t, my glove! It’ll- I can’t use my Power on Dream!” Bad says, panicking. Seemingly sensing the boy’s reluctance, Dream switches his attention to Bad, who hurriedly backs up, angling his staff to deflect any blows. 

Popping up from the floor, Sapnap rams his shoulder into Dream’s back, sending him tumbling to Bad’s side. Dream barely stops to breathe, immediately rolling over to block George’s next swing before sweeping his foot into Sapnap’s ankle, knocking his feet out from under him once more. Halfway through another attack, George catches a glimpse of the scene: Sapnap stumbling towards Bad, Bad’s hand raising to catch him. His _left_ hand. 

Filled with terrible realization, George shouts, “Bad, no!” But it’s too late. Bad’s hand descends onto his friend’s shoulder and a pained howl fills the chamber. Right before their eyes, Sapnap’s shoulder crumbles into dust, the black shadow traveling rapidly across his body, spreading up his neck. George can just see his eyes, wide and terrified, before he collapses forward, aura separating from his head and blowing away. 

“Shit!” George swears, automatically blocking Dream’s next strike as his eyes flick desperately toward the body. “Bad, he’s gone, we have to go!” 

Bad lets out a wordless sob, staff dropping as he stares at Sapnap. “I just- I just-” 

“Bad!” 

“Okay, okay, what about Dream?” 

“I can’t hold him, we have to go! Now!” George shouts, deflecting another stroke and pressing the advantage, giving Bad the time to run. He takes it, dashing out of the door to the disappointed groans of the Conductor. 

“Come on, you can’t leave now! The show’s just getting started!” 

Trying to ignore him, George glances back, making sure that Bad is gone. His absence confirmed, George braces his shield against Dream’s sword and pushes, sending the boy stumbling back a few steps as George turns and runs. 

He skids out the door, hoping desperately that Bad remembers the way out. Flying around the first corner, George almost crashes directly into him, changing direction at the last second to rebound off the wall instead. 

“Why aren’t you running?” George pants, using the flat of his shield to shove Bad into motion. 

“I thought you weren’t coming!” Bad forces out, face scrunching with exertion as they rocket around another corner. 

“I- was-” He gasps. Behind them, George hears the pounding of footsteps and groans weakly, mentally preparing for another fight. His mind flashes through the possibilities- what point in the building would give them the advantage?- before he registers that Bad isn’t beside him anymore and slides to a halt, turning. 

He’s just in time to see an arrow sprout from Bad’s throat before his friend’s eyes roll back and he collapses. 

\---

The fight is easier than Dream expected. For some reason, the Targets are holding back. Their strikes are just shy of contact, closer to warnings than actual blows, and one of them hasn’t even touched him. It’s surprising- even based only on the sounds of their earlier fights, Dream knows they’re skilled with their weapons. Why aren’t they using them?

He flicks the thought away, focusing on the last Target, right in front of him. The first two were fast, easy kills- one of them not even his own- and he suspects this one will be more difficult. Not necessarily due to skill. Something about this Target makes his Device hum threateningly, distracting him from the fight and forcing him to wonder. 

Dream isn’t trained to wonder. He forces his mind back into the fight. 

Slipping back into a fighting stance, he lunges, sword descending in an overhead blow. The Target blocks, their blades clanging together, but doesn’t follow it with another strike. Confused, Dream swings again. Another block. Another missed opportunity to attack. 

Throwing his shield to the side, Dream grips the hilt of his sword with both hands, determined to end the fight. He swings, full power behind it, and the Target deflects again, though the strength of the blow sends him stumbling onto one knee. Sensing victory, Dream feints a blow to the right, drawing the boy to lift his shield, before kicking his other wrist, sending his sword clattering to the ground. 

The Target gasps, desperately searching for the blade, but Dream doesn’t let him recover. He abandons neatness in favor of tackling the boy, shoving him down onto his back and pinning his arms with his knees. With his sword arm, he knocks the other boy’s weapon out of reach.

Bucking his hips, the boy tries to kick, but Dream ignores the weak blows and presses closer, leaning over the Target. Something shivers inside his brain, plucking a memory from deep within him, but he suppresses the feeling, reveling in the satisfaction of a completed Hunt, a final kill. A smile almost curls onto his face.

It’s weakened somewhat by the Target’s apparent surender. He’s no longer trying to fight Dream’s hold, instead just staring up, eyes darting over Dream’s face. He must have lost his glasses sometime during the confrontation, and Dream suddenly notices his eyes, no longer hidden by the tint of the accessory. The boy’s eyes are dark brown. Familiar. 

Something deep inside him twinges, looking at those eyes. Like a dropped stone leaving ripples on the surface of a lake. 

“Dream?” The Target whispers, like it’s a secret. He’s still pinned, nowhere to go, but Dream suddenly feels off-balance. He fights through it, raising his sword, ready to slice and stab and finish this weird, unnerving fight. 

“Please. Dream, I can’t-” 

How does this Target know his name? 

“-please, just let me go. I’ll come back, I’ll help you-”

The others knew it, too. Where did they learn it?

“-we can go away, anywhere, just please-” 

It doesn’t matter. 

“-whatever you want, I won’t even-” 

It doesn’t.

“-and Sapnap, and you k-”

He’s the enemy. 

“-but it’ll be alright, we-” 

He’s a _Target_. 

“-get through this, just listen to me-” 

Dream has to. 

“Shut up!” He shouts, raising the blade higher, tightening his grip. “Shut! Up!” 

The boy shuts up, mouth closing with an audible click. His throat moves with a swallow, and he tilts his head away, pleading with his eyes. 

“I don’t know you!” Dream says, the words falling out in a rush, tripping over his tongue as they go. “I don’t- you’re no one!” 

“Are you sure?” The boy whispers, brow furrowing. He stares directly into Dream’s eyes. “Do you _know_?” 

Dream closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see him, shaking his head to loosen the visions clinging to the front of his eyes. His Device taps out a melody of shocks into his neck, each more painful than the last, bringing lights to the front of his vision. 

A hand touches his thigh, and Dream jerks, pinning it against the floor with his knee. The boy grunts in pain, licking his lips. 

“Dream…” he starts. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet!” 

“...I love you.” 

Ignoring the pain in his heart, Dream raises the sword and swings. 

\---

Dream’s not sure how long it is before he moves. It’s long enough that the blood on his hands is cooling, long enough that his eyes ache from staring. 

Willing himself back into usefulness, he climbs off the body with difficulty, knees cracking as they finally extend again. Exhaustion crawls over his brain like a grasping hand, accompanied as ever by the twangs of electricity from his Device. 

He notices the boy’s sword, neglected on the floor. Bending, Dream picks it up, eyes catching on an etching right above the hilt. Squinting, he tilts it towards the light to read. 

_For all your future adventures. Love, George, Sapnap, + Bad._

The world comes crashing down around him, and he remembers. 

Thousands of moments, each passing faster than he can even register them, flood into his brain. His Device hums angrily, but it’s just a Device, just a useless electronic, powerless in the face of his memories. Overwhelmed, he falls to his knees, eyes catching on the two bodies beside him. 

Bad. And _George._

Dream wails, knees and face sticky with their blood, hands trembling as he grips the sword. Cutting viciously into his palm, the blade seems to whisper to him. _You did this,_ it says, spitting the words like venom. _It’s your fault._

His vision blurs with tears, but he can still see the flash of iron as he raises it. 

When it swings, he can still feel it tear his stomach apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry.
> 
> the next thing i write will hopefully be happier. i feel like i've written wayy too much angst lately. (that being said, the only two things i have in drafts rn are a companion to little bee and a fantasy techno fic, so we'll see what ends up happening)
> 
> thank you to everyone for reading! ily


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